Kid in a Candy Store
by Fialleril
Summary: "I'm very disappointed in the adult world, John. Your brains are even more infantile than I'd thought." Asexual!Sherlock and mortified!John in a sex shop, by request.


**Discliamer:** Everything belongs to the Beeb, ACD, and the public domain.

**Notes:** Written for this prompt at sherlockbbc_fic:

_Sherlock in a sex shop. Maybe it's for a case, maybe he has to replace his riding crop, maybe he's just curious... I don't care. Just have him in a sex shop poking around and asking questions to the bewildered shop assistants. May or may not include mortified John._

Somebody else suggested this should include asexual!Sherlock, and, well...this happened.

* * *

**Kid in a Candy Store**

"Sherlock, people are looking at us."

"Yes, they do that, don't they?" Sherlock murmured distractedly, his eyes not leaving the impressive display of dildos in front of him. He picked up a large, rather springy specimen in a brilliant pink color and turned it over and over in his hands, studying it from every angle. "What do you suppose is the purpose of the color, John?" he asked. "It can't really add anything to the experience, surely?"

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe, if he concentrated very hard, he would wake up and this would all be over.

Unfortunately, he couldn't close his ears.

"Far too spongy to make an effective murder weapon," Sherlock muttered, in a tone that suggested the thing clearly had no purpose in existing. This was followed by a swishing sound and a rather squelchy thud, which told John that Sherlock couldn't even be bothered to replace the thing on the shelf, and had instead tossed it aside as he moved on to the next shelf. With a groan of mortification, John opened his eyes, found the bright pink dildo on the ground at his feet, and hurriedly glanced around before picking it up and replacing it on the shelf. The very last thing he needed was a shop assistant giving him trouble because his flatmate was tossing the merchandise around.

He found Sherlock a few aisles back in the shop, peering dubiously at a display of anal beads, his expression much the same as if he had been examining a particularly recalcitrant corpse. "John," he said, pulling a small magnifying glass from the pocket of his coat and inspecting a set of beads at undue proximity, "what are they _for_?"

For a brief instant, John swore he saw his life pass before his eyes. He looked it over, even replayed a few scenes, but he was quite certain he'd never done _anything _to deserve this.

"They— What are they—" he spluttered, blinking rapidly at Sherlock's apparently honest face. He pulled himself together and rallied enough to say, "Well they're for— That is, when you— When people—" His attempt trailed off in the face of that implacable gaze, and he ended lamely with, "Well, they're for sex."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "_Obviously_," he said in disgust, and turned sharply on his heel, eyes scanning the small shop. John had a sudden premonition of what his life was going to become in the next few seconds, but not soon enough to stop it from happening. He watched in dawning horror as Sherlock hailed a shop assistant and put on his best creepy-polite smile.

"Excuse me," he said brightly as the woman came to stand beside them. "Can you tell me what these do?"

It was really too bad Sherlock had already ruled out the dildos as effective murder weapons, John thought darkly.

"Er," said the shop assistant.

"Please ignore him," John said, smiling awkwardly at the woman and not even caring that he sounded desperate. "He's just joking. Terrible prankster. I know it's not funny." He shot a glare, heavy with missed significance, at his flatmate.

"I'm not at all!" said Sherlock. He sounded miffed, in the way that a child might when he wanted to be taken seriously. "I want to know—"

"Look, Sherlock," John cut him off hurriedly. "We came here to get you a riding crop, right?" He turned back to the woman, trying his best to ignore the amused and knowing glint in her eyes, and said, "Could you direct us there, please?"

She smirked. "Bit new to all of this, aren't you? Well, this way." She turned and led them towards a smaller room in the back of the shop.

John bit back the urge to correct her assumptions. He knew from experience it would do no good. And besides, what was he going to say? "No, it's really not like that at all. It's just that someone was murdered with a whip and my flatmate likes to flog corpses and anyway he's worn out his old riding crop and there aren't any decent bridle shops in the city, or so he claims. Probably he just drags me out here to embarrass me." No one would believe that. John had to admit that even _he _probably wouldn't believe it, if he were hearing it from someone else.

So he stood there awkwardly while Sherlock tested several different crops, scowling blackly and muttering to himself about shoddy craftsmanship. Finally he selected one that he thought was the least inferior, and the shop assistant, who had stood there smirking at the both of them the whole time, led them back to the counter at the front of the store.

Sherlock dithered about the counter as the woman rang up his purchase, peering curiously at the cherry flavored condoms displayed in a little basket, picking one up and turning it around to gaze at every side of the packaging. He seemed to be looking for something, but whatever it was it appeared he hadn't found it, because he gave a snort of disgust, then scooped up a whole heap of the condoms and said, "I'll have these, too."

The woman snickered. John wondered if it would be possible to beat himself to death with a vibrator.

Finally Sherlock had paid his bill and John managed to drag him out of the store. The moment the shop door closed behind them, John turned on him with a snarl. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

Sherlock blinked at him, all wide eyes and innocence, but John wasn't falling for it. "Look," he said, "I'm tired of people assuming that we're sleeping together. And you dragging me along to look at kinky sex toys and buy condoms isn't helping!"

Sherlock, as usual, completely missed the point. "It's interesting that people call them 'toys,' isn't it?" he remarked casually, swinging the bag by his side without a care, acting for all the world as though the other people on the sidewalk weren't staring at them and perfectly able to read the label on the bag. "And all the bright colors, and packaging with ridiculous words like 'exciting' and 'new' and 'exotic.'" Each word was drier than the last, and Sherlock's smirk was at its most sardonic. "And, of course, the flavors. Though I don't understand why those are really necessary. If I want to taste something in that dreadful flavor of artificial cherry, I'd purchase some cough syrup."

John stared at him, then shook his head. He'd really thought that he was done being surprised by this sort of thing.

"But it's amusing, isn't it," Sherlock continued blithely, "that they call these shops 'adult' when their products appeal to the same baser sense that's used to market candy to children."

"All right," said John slowly, "I think you'd better explain that. Because that sounded like— Well, it didn't sound good."

Sherlock regarded him disdainfully. "Don't be sensationalist, John," he said. "It's really very simple. The marketing technique is the same: vibrant colors, disgusting saccharine flavors, glow-in-the-dark, 'look Mummy it moves if you put batteries in it!'" He sniffed. "I'm very disappointed in the adult world, John. Your brains are even more infantile than I'd thought."

John scowled and did his best to ignore the dig. Responding was always less than useless. "Well," he said at last, "what did you want the condoms for, then?"

Sherlock stared at him as though the answer should be obvious. "I need to run some tests on them, of course," he said. "The packaging is very inferior, and fails to provide a basic breakdown of the ingredients used. Certain chemicals used in artificial flavorings can be deadly, under the right circumstances."

"Oh for the love of— Murder by _condoms_, Sherlock? You can't be serious!"

Sherlock smiled serenely at him. "I am always serious about murder, John."


End file.
